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Thursday, September 6, 2012

A day came when I had things to do... but when I stepped into the garden and felt the sparkling sunshine and listened to the high-summer buzz, a deeper need sent me to the forest. Drum in hand and small friend by my side, I set out along the path. I thought maybe to walk to the whispering stone, or the faery pool, but not far into our journey, I bent low and stretched out on a patch of moss amongst trees and mountain laurel. Drizzle the day before had set the mosses a-glow and nearby in the clearing, a gathering of dragonflies darted this way and that, silvered wings flashing by.

Far off a raven squawked, and all around the rhythmic chirping of crickets

Lying on the mosses, looking up at the sky, I listened for a long, long time. It is so absent of human-made noise here, that one can truly sink into dreaming and

remembering...

After a time, I sat up, gathered my drum and my voice and my deep gratitude for

this place and sang songs of trees and mosses and dragonflies and wind. Closer now,

the raven answered and wondered, I'm sure, about this strange woman who sings

songs with made-up words, more sounds than language... or maybe I am singing

in that ancient tongue - you know, the one that is spoken of in the old stories,

from a time when humans and animals shared a language, and knew better how to communicate. Perhaps the raven knows what I am saying, even if I do not.

When finally it was time to return, I noticed, as I always do, how the quiet listening, the drumming and singing and dreaming had shifted me. In my expanded awareness, stones and trees and creatures each spoke to me withtheir particular forms and gestures. Maybe this is the communication the old stories tell of. Perhaps the language is not lost, but it is a language of the sensesthat is not spoken, but felt - mumbled to us by the shape and texture of a stone, the particular bend in a tree, the flash of light on dragonfly wings.

About Me

I dwell in a peaceful forest clearing amongst tall, sweeping hemlocks. A gathering of oaks encircles my home, and ravens cling to the shadows in the deep shade of the forest beyond. They gift me with squawking and rhythmic beats of wings and call to life the wild spirit within. The mosses, stones and trees, creature beings and spirits of the deep wood whisper, inspire and enchant. I remember and dream and reclaim myself as a sacred being in the web of all life, doing my best to live my life between the culture to which I belong, and the forest which is my true home.
I make things visual in watercolors, oils, ink, scratchboard, and clay/mixed-media. I sing ancient sounding songs (so I'm told) and tell stories from magical realms and the land of dreams.